How My Implants Wound Up As Bookends - A Your Mom Post

A true story of breast implants, explants, and DIY resin projects.

I’m on vacation right now in Pound Ridge with one of the great loves of my life, Victoria Lampley-Berens, and her family. I have a brand new letter coming to you next week, but this week, I’m resurfacing one that I sent back in January to paid subscribers of my other newsletter,

Your Mom

- if you’re paying there, and not here, and you haven’t seen it, read it here.

Anyway, it’s a good story, and a funny story, and doesn’t relate strictly to motherhood. So I’m sending it here, too.

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Many, many, many years ago, I was an awkward feeling teenager with a highly suspect relationship with my body. I was in boarding school, and I had been a chubby pre-teen, then grew into a yo-yo teenager, chubby/skinny/chubby/skinny. While the rest of my body fluctuated, the one thing that didn’t was my boobs. They were tiny and…snoopy-shaped. More like protuberances than breasts, flattened and triangular, my two closest friends in the dorm lovingly nicknamed me “Dog-Nips”, because they looked like a mother dog who had recently had a litter of puppies. Dog-Nips. I was 15.

Me in high school.

No matter how much weight I gained or lost, my breasts never changed. I felt I had to stay super thin for them to make sense with my body, so I did everything in my power to stay super thin. Healthy or not.

This persisted all through high school, then college. Me and my weird boobs, on a journey.

Then, when I graduated college, it occurred to me that….I could change them. I could alter them, make them less pointy, less like - I really have no other way to describe it - dog nips, and make it so they matched my bone structure and when I inevitably gained weight, I’d accept it (theoretically). I could (and would) get implants.